A Branded Nobody
by silvermyth
Summary: It was there, just on the edge of the sector, that Axel's focus turned to the dull blue eyes, flat like unpolished stones, but still such a stunning hue under those lowered lids. Perhaps it wasn't the best criteria to choose a slave by, but then, Axel had always been peculiar like that. Warning: Slavery (non-sexual) AU.
1. An Impulse Buy

**A/N:** This is attempt number two at Cameo Amalthea's prompt, "slave." She was looking for something a little different than "Yes, Master," and I like a challenge, so here we go! I'm glad I'm doing this now, rather than in the middle of AkuRokuRiSo month, as it's a little trickier, story-wise. It's already become clear to me that it has to be a multi-parter, haha.

 **Chapter One:** _An Impulse Buy_

It was they boy's eyes that caught Axel's attention. Not the dead, vacant gaze in them, no, that he was accustomed to seeing behind the bars and chains that lined the slave market. He may only skirt the slave sector, but that was enough to see the worst that the trade had to offer. Broken spirits, disfigured bodies, creatures fit for little more than to be used until they finally gave out completely, and then discarded like so much trash. It was far from pleasant, but it was the way the world was.

It was there, just on the edge of the sector, that Axel's focus turned to the dull blue eyes, flat like unpolished stones, but still such a stunning hue under those lowered lids.

Perhaps it wasn't the best criteria to choose a slave by, but then, Axel had always been peculiar like that. He already had a house slave, a gift from his parents, when he had earned a ranking position in the Organization with his talent for fire. She, too, had brilliant blue eyes, a cornflower blue that sparkled when her master was kind to her. She came from the other side of the slave sector, a gently-trained thing, obedient, and fit for his status, but he'd chosen her for those lovely eyes, more than anything. He didn't need another, the dark-haired girl was more than adequate for the few tasks required to maintain his home, but then, no one ever _needed_ slaves. The lower classes got by without them just fine, or so he'd heard.

But he didn't have time to stop and make the purchase. He'd already dawdled, and it was a critical day for his latest project. He spared a final glance for the battered boy, before long strides carried Axel away from the slave sector, and towards the hulking structure of the Organization.

Axel's day passed quickly, his mind on his work, but also flicking back to half-lidded cerulean. He manipulated a flame into the blue of high heat, guided it to shape the intricate apparatus Vexen required, his brow furrowed in concentration. If he could complete the project without any complications, he might be able to drop it off in the scientist's workshop and leave early, return to the slave market before the evening rush. Hopefully before the boy could be bought by someone else.

Of course, Axel could not count himself so lucky. Just a tiny error, an imperfection in the difficult metal, and he had to backtrack through several hours of coaxing the thing into shape. Axel was not a perfectionist, far from it, but Vexen _was_ , and an irritable man, at that. Fixing the error now, despite the long hours, would save him from the man's ire later. So it was that the sun was already setting by the time Axel had finished crafting the apparatus to Vexen's specifications, oranges and reds filtering through the windows that lined one wall of his workroom.

Axel took a moment to bask in the warm glow, finally able to relax in a warmth that didn't sap at his strength the way his own fires did. Though, he decided, he did miss the blue of the midday sky, and the heart of the hottest of flames. The thought gave him a second wind as he collected himself and bustled back out into the streets, his feet following their usual path towards his home, although his intended destination was the slave sector.

In the gathering twilight, he had some trouble finding the merchant who had displayed the blue-eyed boy. Admittedly, he was more used to passing the slave sector without much thought, rather than entering it with purpose. He was certain that many of the other members of the Organization knew the place backwards and forwards, but Axel had little interest in the business, as a matter of course. But those blue eyes…he coveted them.

He was less visible in the low light, but Axel caught sight of the boy, unmoving, and in almost the same listless state as he'd been earlier that day. He wouldn't be surprised if the boy had moved much at all during the course of the day, and winced a little in pity. But at the same time, he was glad the boy was still there, instead of sold to another into an uncertain fate.

The grubby proprietor snapped to attention when he saw Axel's nod, his eyes quick to identify the silver chain of station hanging across Axel's chest. "Ser, 'ow might I help you?"

"That one." He gestured to the owner of the blue eyes.

"Nu'er thirteen, Ser? I have better." The man simpered and wrung his hands, before pointing out a young woman, and then a still-strong man, both with downcast eyes. "They'll be a lot more use to you than that'un. An' there's more inside, I keep the good ones—"

Axel cut him off. "I want _that one_." Catching the shifting posture of the owner, he snapped a small flame into existence. "And I will know if you cheat me." His voice cut cold, as threatening as the small ball of fire in his palm. Even he was not so naïve of the slave sector to fall prey to a scam.

The owner flinched. "Aye. Thirteen be the number, and the price, Ser."

The small fire dissipated. Axel produced the coins from his purse, holding them just out of reach. "And the papers?"

"Of course, of course!" Axel watched as the requisite papers were fished out of a strong box, and the man began scribbling in his ledger. "Your name, Ser? For the records."

"Axel Cendres, Rank Eight."

The scribbling paused at the addition of the rank, bloodshot eyes glancing at his customer, but returned to the task when Axel impatiently shook the coins in his hand. A few more scribbles, and then he laid the pen down and stamped the paper with his business mark. "Everythin's in order, then, Ser Cendres."

Axel examined the documents, letting the coins fall into the man's hands once he was satisfied. He nodded and pocketed the papers. "Very well."

The merchant chattered as he unlocked the chain securing the boy to his post, a mix of flattery and business, but Axel ignored him, instead giving his new acquisition a brief once-over. He was short, especially next to Axel's looming height, and as listless as Axel had first thought, those blue eyes barely flickering to acknowledge the change of hands. The shapeless smock he wore was even grubbier than the merchant, and he stank. Axel scrunched his nose in distaste. Well, he could be cleaned up, and with gentle handling, perhaps his eyes would shine like Xion's.

"Come along, then," Axel murmured, giving the boy's chain a light tug, urging him to follow for the rest of his trek home. It seemed to take him a moment to realize what was expected of him, but another gentle pull of the chain sent him into a stiff, shuffling gait. He was slow, and they'd barely gone a block before Axel realized he would either have to force the boy to move faster, or slow his own stride to accommodate him.

Axel stopped and turned to the boy, cocking his head. He kept his voice gentle and addressed him. "Well then. What shall I call you? Thirteen? I guess that will have to do for now. Thirteen, can you move faster?"

The blank expression he was met with was a little eerie, he decided, and the rest of the journey home was heavy with silence.

o - o - o

Once home, Axel had handed his new purchase off to Xion, still a little unnerved by the unresponsiveness of the boy. Her eyes had widened at his state, but she silently escorted him into the separate bathing chamber she'd been allowed, leaving Axel to the late dinner she'd prepared for him.

Xion had never known a cruel master, had never been unhappy enough with her lot to disobey, but she had heard stories of the slaves that had. More than that, she'd seen the slave sector, and knew what disobedience and cruel masters looked like. She recognized the empty eyes in the boy's face and tried not to wonder what had caused them to look like that.

"What's your name?" Xion asked. A slow blink was the only response, making her frown. "Well, we can at least get you clean. Can you do that?" The silence was answer enough.

"You poor thing," she murmured, pushing back her sleeves. She didn't expect a response anymore, and instead filled the quiet with gentle assurances as she pulled the filthy smock over the other's head. "I don't know why the master chose you, but I'm glad he did. You'll be safe here. He's very kind, he's never hurt me, and always makes sure I'm fed and comfortable." Her breath caught as she took in the pale lines criss-crossing her charge's gaunt skin. "We're so very lucky to have him."

Xion tossed the dirty garment into a corner to be thrown away later, and guided the boy into the washing stall. He was like a doll, nearly lifeless as she moved him under a stream of lukewarm water, not even flinching when the water sluiced over an angry wound on his side that had been hidden underneath the filth. Xion continued her mantra of soothing words, her hands just as gentle in her endeavor to wash him.

His skin was clean before long, but his hair was another matter. It was so matted and dirty that soap and water was of little help, and a brush would be just as useless. She would have to cut it, which would require her master's permission, she realized. So she left that for last. For the moment, she dried him off and led him to her modest quarters—likely they would share them, now—to find him something other than a towel to cover up with. Whether because he was young, or malnourished, or a combination of both, they were of a size, and Xion helped him into a pair of loose trousers and a shirt from her own wardrobe.

The boy blindly followed Xion to find their master. Axel was bent over a large book in his study, and Xion waited until he noticed their presence before she spoke. As kind as their master was, even he could get angry, and she'd already learned that interrupting him from his work was a surefire way to earn a punishment.

Green eyes flickered over the pair of them, and Axel found himself mesmerized by the two sets of blue eyes, only barely distinguishable from each other. "Yes, Xion?"

Xion dipped into a small bow of supplication. "Master, the boy's hair is too tangled to save. With your permission, it may be better to cut it." Axel nodded. "And there is another thing. He is badly injured."

Axel frowned. Of course, the boy was damaged goods, he had to be, in that corner of the slave sector, but it hadn't occurred to Axel that he'd still bear unhealed injuries. And the boy had made no indication that he was in pain on their walk home.

"Show me." When the boy didn't move to comply, Xion took over the task, nudging him forward and lifting the shirt to reveal his torso.

Axel cursed softly as he finally got a good look at his purchase. The stark outline of ribs under scarred, greyish skin, that he'd expected, but the weeping gashes across the boy's flank was a surprise. Not that it made any difference. Axel had bought the boy, and had had every intention of keeping him from the start.

"What'd you do to deserve this, kid? Xion, get the salve. And bandages." Xion placed a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder before leaving the room. Axel eyed the boy's hair next. It was still wet, and dark with dirt, full of matted clumps that stuck out in spikes, and, as Xion had said, would have to go. "I suppose you probably have lice, too." Axel ran a hand through his own hair, healthy, long, and brilliant red. "Well, I'm glad you were so cheap. Thirteen coppers for Thirteen, eh?" He let out a little chuckle. "Anyway, let's get this over with. Sorry I don't actually have scissors, don't use them much, so a knife will have to do. Not in here, though, don't want to make a mess."

Axel pulled his hair into a ponytail and steered Thirteen through a door and into his work room, flicking a hand to light the lamps lining the walls. "You're not allowed in here without me. Don't forget it," he instructed, voice firm. "There is no lock, but a wrong move could blow the whole place up." Thirteen didn't offer any indication that he'd heard or understood, but when Axel picked up the knife from a table, there was a flicker in his eyes. He hunched into himself when Axel stepped close and began shearing the clumps of hair.

Axel didn't notice the new tension until he heard the soft cries as he worked. He stopped and backed up a step. "Hey, hey, what's this? It's just hair. It'll grow back." Thirteen's eyes had a spark of fear in them, now, and Axel followed his gaze to the knife he'd been using in lieu of scissors. "Hey, I'm just cutting your hair. I'm not going to hurt you. Geez. You're more likely to get burned than cut in here, anyway." Thirteen was quiet when Axel returned to his task, but the tension was still there, tears still tracing down his cheeks. Deciding there was nothing for it, Axel finished as quickly as he could, being careful to keep his word and not cause any new injuries.

Xion was waiting at the door of the work room when Axel finished, holding the jar of salve and some bandages for him. "Thank you, Xion. I'll need to draw up some instructions for you to deliver tomorrow, so put out my writing supplies. And Thirteen may need to eat, so you can prepare something for the both of you once that's finished."

Xion nodded, sparing a pitying look for the other slave, before turning to her new tasks.

Xion had flinched away from him, at first, because even the most obedient slaves never knew what to expect from a new master, but he was clear and fair, and Xion knew that she had a better lot than most slaves. Axel hoped Thirteen would learn that, as well.

If he ever did more than cry or shuffle around like a dead thing.

Despite his reaction to the knife, Thirteen didn't flinch away from Axel's hands as he applied the salve. "Looks like a brand gone wrong," Axel muttered. "A second-degree burn, that's this," Axel traced a finger along one edge of the wound, "but here in the middle, it's like they dug into it to make the shape more pronounced. I wonder if that's why the knife bothered you, hm? But this has to hurt, and you're not even flinching." Axel bandaged the wound with an irritated sigh. "Branding isn't even an accepted form of identification anymore!"

o - o - o

To Axel, slaves had always been more like useful pets, than anything. Thirteen wouldn't be useful for a while, if ever, but he was still a pet, and Axel was excited about his new acquisition. He was determined to fix him up and at least make him _look_ like he belonged in a ranked man's household. Which meant ordering new clothing, and of course a metal band to circle the boy's neck, rather than the plain slave's collar that hung there now. Some lotion to combat the possibility of lice. A doctor to make sure the boy had a clean bill of health, beyond the ugly brand.

It was almost fun, too, until he saw the listless blue eyes, and remembered he would have to treat this one with special care.

Axel traced patterns of fire in the air while he waited for sleep to come. He could be patient, right? Thought the man who'd just made an impulse buy. He chuckled to himself.

Xion found it difficult to sleep, that night, with Thirteen huddled into a corner, eyes still gazing flatly ahead. Axel was kind, but broken spirits weren't easily mended.


	2. Cautious Steps

**A/N:** Sorry for such a long wait for the update! I did drabbles all of November, and then I skipped out of writing for most of this month. Anyway, I'd really like to hear what you think of this chapter, since I'm trying a lot of new things with this fic! Cheers!

 **Chapter Two:** _Cautious Steps_

Within the space of a week, Thirteen had already improved from the state he'd arrived in. At least, superficially.

It turned out he had arrived with lice, but the haircut and lotion had cleared that up, along with the residual grime in his hair, revealing a head of blond hair. It was dull and lank, but time would fix that. The brand on his flank had begun to heal cleanly; he was malnourished, and had a few broken bones that hadn't mended quite straight, but he was otherwise healthy. And clean; Axel, or more accurately, Xion, made sure if that.

Thirteen still only wore plain clothing, but around his neck lay a bright red band of metal, indicating his status as a slave, and, more importantly, his owner. Axel had stayed up late the night it arrived to burn his rank and crest into the band, and had even added some stylistic embellishments to set it apart, before closing it over the pale white throat. Thirteen only shivered when the cold metal touched his skin, before shuffling back to his and Xion's room.

He seemed more alert, at least, but Axel's simple orders and Xion's gentle guidance still earned little to no reaction. So Thirteen remained in the house under Xion's watchful eye.

Xion hadn't had trouble maintaining Axel's house alone, and hadn't even minded being there by herself during the day, but she quickly found that she enjoyed Thirteen's presence as she went about her tasks, even with the continued silence. Sometimes he would follow her from room to room, and always he watched her. His eyes still looked flat and empty, but they tracked her progress as she prepared Axel's dinner, or mended his clothes.

Throughout it all, she spoke to him softly. About their master, and the things she was required to do around the house. About the occasional outing with him, and how she was allowed to run errands for him, delivering letters or picking up certain purchases. Things that might make the master angry.

If the words made any sense to him, he didn't show it.

It wasn't until the start of the second week that Axel's workload was light enough to really give his new acquisition the attention he'd planned. He really wasn't sure how to go about it, bringing brightness into Thirteen's eyes, but it had to be possible. Right? Rehabilitating broken slaves wasn't exactly common practice, but that wasn't going to stop him, even if it did make his project a little more difficult, without anyone to turn to for help.

Ah, but Xion was a slave. It occurred to him that she could give him a little insight on the matter. It was a faux-pas to consult a slave for advice, of course, but Axel thought it wasn't advice, so much as a report, a state of affairs, as it were.

"Xion."

The black-haired girl looked up from her current task. "Master?"

"You're a slave. Tell me, slaves like Thirteen, how do masters usually get them back to, you know," Axel waved his hand vaguely from his seat behind the desk, "being more normal?"

Xion's eyes widened, and she turned them to the floor before she could be caught staring. It wasn't that she didn't expect Axel to try to use Thirteen as a slave, but… "If my master would allow me to speak freely," she murmured to her feet.

Axel sat up straighter. "Of course."

Still, Xion hesitated. "I did see others like Thirteen. Some only respond to punishment. Some do as they're told, like dumb animals. Some don't respond at all, and those are," she bit her lip. "Those ones are considered garbage and thrown away, because they are useless." She lifted her eyes cautiously. "Thirteen is like those. But," she hurried on, "I think if maybe our master would be kind and teach him from the very beginning, he might not be so useless." Despite her words, Xion didn't think it would be possible to 'fix' Thirteen. She'd never heard of a slave that recovered from such a state, and however Axel treated her, the same might not hold true for a lost cause like Thirteen. As long as Axel thought it was a possibility, Thirteen could stay safe.

Axel seemed to consider her words for a moment, and then he nodded. "I see. I suppose I could do that, then."

Xion bobbed her head. "Yes, Sir." Her lips spread into a small smile; Thirteen would be okay, at least for now.

o - o - o

All that said, Axel still had little to go by. But, he thought, at the very least, it might be better for Thirteen to get used to his new owner's presence, like one might acclimate a newly-weaned puppy to its master. Arms crossed over his chest, he studied the blond boy who sat near Xion, silently watching her mend a shirt.

He realized that the boy had at least responded to one thing since he'd bought him, and that was to follow Axel at the end of a chain. It was a start, at least, and he wondered if the lead would be necessary, or if Thirteen would do so on his own.

Axel uncrossed his arms and stood. "Thirteen." He kept his voice clear, but low, to make sure he was understood and show that he had no ill intentions. "Come here."

Xion looked from Axel to Thirteen, and then back again. The boy's eyes followed her line of sight to land on their master. He blinked, and then lowered his eyes, but didn't move. Xion nudged him. "He means you," she murmured. When he didn't move, she nudged him again, gently urging him to comply.

"No, don't. I want to see if he will at least do it on his own." Xion nodded and turned her attention back to the shirt. Axel cocked his head to one side and tugged at his hair. "Hey kid, look. 'Come here.'" Axel pointed at the empty space next to him. "You understand, right?" When no response was forthcoming, Axel sighed. "You followed easily enough to get here. Does it really take a leash to get you to move? I'd really rather not, you know?"

Two sets of eyes widened at the boy's sharp intake of air, and the sudden rigidity of his posture. A stiff nod, and Thirteen climbed to his feet, eyes on the ground as he approached Axel. He stopped a few feet away, just out of reach.

Axel scratched his head. "Huh. Okay then. So, you definitely understand. Well then. Can you follow me?" No response, but as Axel moved away from his desk, Thirteen followed with cautious steps, until Axel turned his feet to the workroom. The boy stopped at the doorway, as if encountering an invisible barrier, and Axel paused to look back at him. His lips twitched, and Axel thought he heard a whisper, so he asked, "What is it?"

"Not allowed." The words were hoarse and low, but Axel couldn't help but grin.

"That's right!" Axel strode back to his charge and ruffled his hair. "You're not allowed, unless I say so!" His hand still in Thirteen's hair, he gently tilted the boy's head back so he could see the blue eyes that so often stared at the ground. They did look a little different, he decided. A little frightened, but there was someone home, even if it was just a flicker of life. "But today you're just going to sit over here," Axel steered him to a little stool in the corner, "while I work. Keep me company for a while, you know?" An obvious tension ran through him, but he yielded to Axel's direction.

Thirteen sat, once again mute, as if he had never spoken, eyes trained on the ground.

Unperturbed, Axel began a one-sided conversation as he set to work. "I'll warn you, it gets hot in here. Xion doesn't like it. She won't say so, of course, but I can tell, so I don't make her come in here unless I need her." He glanced at Thirteen and paused. "I don't know what kind of owners you had before coming here, but I can tell you this much: I will be fair to you. I'm not the kind of person to just be cruel for no reason."

Blue eyes turned up to look at Axel for a moment, and there was that flicker behind them again, gone in an instant, but Axel was certain he'd seen it, this time.

"You know, if you don't mind it in here, I could use you in here. I mean, once you're," he flicked a long hand, "settled. Maybe I could even take you to the Organization. Xemnas is always telling me to get someone to keep things in better order there, since I won't take any of the Dusks the company keeps. To be honest, those things creep me out. They look like people, but you can just tell they _aren_ _'_ _t_. They're so weird…" Axel's voice tapered off as he focused on manipulating a small fire, for priming a piece of metal for his latest project.

His attention was on his work, so he didn't notice the way the flicker in Thirteen's eyes became a low-burning spark as he watched the metal turn red-hot. It was mostly fear, but behind that, the ghost of a memory, flashes of white-hot after-images from another kind of light. Thirteen's hands twitched, aching to do something he'd had purged out of him with whips and brands. He held his breath, just as he held the traitorous memories back.

He let his breath out in a low sigh, let the memories fade back beyond his reach.

But the spark was still there in his eyes, a low ember that reflected the glow from Axel's project. Axel noticed and wondered, but didn't acknowledge it out loud. He at least knew about coaxing a reluctant flame. Even if this was a different kind of fire, it would take time and patience.

It became routine, for Thirteen to sit on the stool in the work room, watching Axel manipulate fire and metal, listening to Axel's constant stream of words. Axel kept a sharp gaze on him, looking for signs of improvement. There was little that either of them missed, as they took each other's measure each day. Thirteen's silence and Axel's lack thereof was, in a way, an entirely different conversation.

Thirteen's hair soon took on a golden luster and a stubborn cowlick, and his skin lost its sallow cast. The wound on his flank turned turned shiny pink-bright and delicate and clean.

He broke his silence with Xion first. She had taken to bringing him pebbles and other detritus from the occasional errand that took her outside of the house. It was a bright, oblong seashell that she placed in his hand, a rare find on the city streets.

Thirteen stared at it, grappling with a hazy thought that slipped away before he could catch it. He closed his hand around the shell and turned to Xion. "T-thanks."

Xion turned, surprised to hear his voice, however hoarse it was. Two sets of blue eyes regarded each other, until Xion's lips turned up into a smile. "You're welcome!"

"Xion?"

"Hm?"

He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, some of the hoarseness was gone. "I can help. So you don't have to do it all by yourself."

Xion beamed. "Thank you!" After thinking a moment, she led Thirteen to a bucket that stood to one side of the study. "I think you can do this. Master Axel likes them to be sorted by type, which you can tell by the color." She pulled a lump of metal from the bucket, its surface black with soot. "You have to clean them a little first. Here," she pulled a cloth from her pocket, "just scrub it a little and—see? This one's reddish, so it goes in here." She deposited into a smaller container that stood on a shelf, then pointed to each of the other small containers. "They each have one. Got it?"

Thirteen nodded and accepted the cloth. Xion watched him sort through the first few pieces, before leaving to take care of something else.

A crash and clatter several minutes later brought her running back. Wide-eyed, Thirteen stood rigid, the sorted metals mixed all together again in a pile at his feet, their respective containers overturned.

"Sorry," he whispered, flinching. "I-I-"

"It's okay," Xion reassured him. "It's nothing to worry about. We can clean it up, right?" Smiling, she bent and picked up the nearest container. Even if Axel might be annoyed by the mishap, he would have to be pleased when he realized that Thirteen had started following directions. She set the container on the shelf, and, taking her cue, Thirteen began picking up the other buckets.

Xion watched him from the corner of her eye as they picked up and sorted through the mess. He was clumsy, as if he was still learning how to use his fine motor skills, which explained how he'd knocked everything over, and sometimes he would stare at a lump of metal for minutes at a time, before depositing it into the appropriate container.

"You know," Xion murmured, once they'd settled into a rhythm together, "I've never seen someone like you." Thirteen shot her a perplexed look, and she turned her attention to the task at hand. "I never saw someone come back from a state like that. I didn't think you could."

There was a long silence as Thirteen stared at her. "But you said-"

"I said it so Master Axel would take care of you," she whispered, twisting the cloth in her hands. "Please don't tell him I lied." Thirteen nodded, but Xion left shortly after, to finish her other tasks, she said.

Thirteen was nearly finished sorting when a disgruntled Axel stormed through the front door. He made a beeline to his workroom, grumbling and shedding his long black coat on the study floor along his way, before kicking the workroom door open. There was a low roar of flames bursting into life, followed by a crash and a curse. Axel reappeared in the study, green eyes flicking over to where Thirteen sat frozen in the corner, hands full of scrap metal and a now-dirty rag.

The redhead crossed his arms with a short laugh, tension leaking out of him. "Well, look at you!" Thirteen eyed the ground warily as Axel strode close, and flinched when his blond hair was ruffled. It was something his master was fond of doing, but he still wasn't used to it, especially when Axel used the contact to turn his face upwards. It was hard to avoid the piercing green eyes then, but more often then not, they were dancing with mirth. "Hey, you did good, Thirteen. Xion tell you to do this?" He nodded, and Axel's mouth stretched into a slash of a grin. "Alright, this just made my day! I think you both deserve a reward!" Thirteen's lips moved to question 'reward,' but he was cut off by Axel's yelling, "Xion!"

Thirteen stared in confusion at the blue-green popsicle that their master had shared with him and Xion, until Axel urged him to try it. He took a cautious bite, and was rewarded with a cold, refreshing flavor that was salty and sweet.

"It's good, right?" Thirteen nodded, and Axel smiled, pleased. "I've got a mission for you in there," he gestured towards his workroom, "once we finish. We'll start out small there, too, yeah?" The blond nodded again.

There was a new routine, after that. Thirteen rarely found himself idle during the days, and he quickly became accustomed to the work, if not to his owner.

Axel watched the blond, and wasn't satisfied. Thirteen still lacked…something. He was slow to process commands, and he still wasn't always in the moment, often drifting off for minutes at a time. The blue eyes were no longer empty, but they didn't shine, and the boy never smiled, and rarely spoke. But, he supposed, it was progress.

And while Axel thought of Thirteen's improvement, Xion wondered at his past. Had he simply had cruel masters, or had he done something to warrant those scars and absent moments?


	3. Nobody's Name

**A/N:** Hello readers. It's been two months since I've updated this...well, c'est la vie. I hope you like angst and possibly unreliable narrators!

 **Chapter 3:** _Nobody's Name_

"Don't you think you should have a name? Something other than Thirteen? Didn't you have one before you came here?"

It was Axel who posed the question, but Xion's quiet gaze said she was waiting to hear an answer, also. A name to replace the number.

It was true that he'd had a name, once. Thirteen vaguely remembered the two syllables, bright and happy and light, but when he thought of them, it was as someone far removed, as if it had been another life. Another person.

A somebody.

Thirteen was nobody, an ugly, scarred slave. The name belonged to someone else, someone better, and he didn't deserve it. The brand on his flank proved it, reinforced it with every thought, and captured the attention of his hands to trace the shiny pink lines. If he were to have a name—he doubted he deserved even that. But if Axel insisted he give a name, it would be his own. Not the one that belonged to the bright person from long ago.

The name came to him while cleaning up after one of Axel's fiery mishaps, scraping away the charred and melted remains of his latest experiment. In the center of the mess was a small cross-shaped bit of metal, almost an "x;" Thirteen picked it up and scrubbed it absently, already thinking to add it to the scrap bucket. As he turned it over, the harsh sound of the letter wormed its way into his mind, mixing in with the unspoken syllables of the person he once was, inverting and warping them like the metal in his hand.

 _Roxas_.

Thirteen didn't realize that he'd stopped moving, his hand curled around the metal, until Axel's chiding voice pulled him from his reverie. "Hey, come on now. I need this cleaned up, yeah?" Thirteen nodded, his grip tightening over the metal. "What's that?" Axel asked, inclining his head.

Thirteen flinched, the x falling from his hand; he quickly bent to pick it up, holding it flat on his hand. "S-sorry. Scrap metal."

Axel's hand was hot as he plucked the item up to inspect it. "Huh." He glanced at the half-cleaned work bench it had come from. "It's not what I was going for, but it still looks cool, right?" He grinned and pocketed it. "Let's not scrap this, Thirteen."

Axel was already turned away as Thirteen's mouth moved. The sound didn't come out at first, so he wet his lips and tried again. "R-roxas."

Axel half-turned to look at him, an eyebrow quirked. "What's that?"

"Roxas." It came out stronger on the second try. "Instead of Thirteen. Roxas."

Axel studied him, and he tried not to fidget under the gaze. "Roxas. I like it, it has a nice ring to it." He nodded. "Tell Xion; she'll be happy." Axel strode to the other side of the room, back to working on a less volatile project, leaving Thirteen to finish his task.

Not Thirteen. Roxas. It would take some getting used to, the new name, but it was, after all, better than just a number. Maybe he could become someone new, to fit into his new, so-called life. He tried not to think about it too hard, because with those thoughts came the others, memories of pains dull and sharp alike.

Roxas shifted his focus to the work bench, redoubling his cleaning efforts to clear his mind. He knew what happened when he thought. The only one he let himself consider was how to tell Xion his new name.

Xion returned from her city excursion with a souvenir, as usual. Roxas stared at the set of rusty skeleton keys, his face growing pale. The image tripped at a memory that he hurried to tamp down.

"I found two!" Xion exclaimed, passing one into his trembling hands. "One for each of us!"

"Isn't this…dangerous for a slave…" Roxas struggled to get the words out.

"They're useless, really. Our master knows that, and we know that. It's okay to just have them." She offered him a small smile as she placed hers on the small wardrobe they shared, lining it up with the collection of trinkets there.

Roxas tucked the key into his pocket. "Thank you, Xion."

She beamed. "You've made a lot of progress, Thirteen. I'm so glad."

Roxas lifted a hand to scratch a spot under the metal band that circled his neck. "About that. You can call me Roxas. I'm…I'm a person, not a number." Even though he said it, Roxas was still having trouble believing it, himself. Still, if he said it enough, maybe he'd eventually believe it.

He was startled when Xion threw her arms around him, a rare show of affection. "Good! That's so good!" She pulled away, face flushed and eyes sparkling. "Roxas!" Her laughter was pure and bright, and for the first time, Roxas felt the corners of his lips tilt up. Xion noticed, and buried him in another hug. With someone like Xion around, it would be just a little easier, he decided. Xion let him go abruptly. "I still have a lot to do tonight. And so do you. But I'm so happy!"

They padded out of their quarters together, Xion stopping in the study, while Roxas continued on into Axel's work room. Axel ruffled Roxas' hair as he passed, on his way to his desk. Spotting Xion's happy face, he laughed. "I see you've met our Roxas, then."

Roxas lingered at the door to the work room, watching the two interact. Slave and master, together, almost as if such a difference didn't exist between them. Was it really that simple? To be happy, while being owned, and ordered around? They were at Axel's mercy, no matter how he acted now, and Roxas knew what slave owners were capable of. He couldn't imagine how Axel might react, if pressed, even if Xion insisted that Axel was kind.

He still couldn't help but fear the person who'd bought him for just a handful of coppers. Roxas found his hand already seeking out the mark burned into his flesh. Axel was a fire wielder—all the more reason to fear him, especially in this room. Xion was an expensive slave: obedient, pretty, and unmarred. Of course she would be treated well. Roxas was already damaged goods, expendable. No one would notice if another scar joined the ones he already wore.

The thought sent him hurrying back into the work room. Axel had already directed him, before Xion had even returned, to divide a powder she'd delivered into small glass vials. He forced himself to breathe carefully, and keep his movements steady. He could only focus on his tasks. That was his sole purpose. Anything else would put him back under a whip, or worse. He wasn't that person anymore.

Roxas was capping the last vial when he felt Axel as a heat at his back. "Tomorrow is a free day, Roxas. How would you like to see the outside of this house again?"

Roxas looked up at his master, face empty. It was easier, that way. "Okay."

Axel gave him a long, searching look, one that Roxas avoided by casting his eyes down. Finally: "That's enough for today, Roxas. Go tell Xion to set dinner out."

It was a relief to be dismissed. He relayed the instructions to Xion, before retreating to their shared quarters.

Roxas huddled into himself on the narrow bed that Axel had had brought in for him, emptying his mind. It was taking more effort than it had when he'd first come here. He didn't have the hurts on his body to distance himself anymore. The lack of them gave him a sense of security—one he was certain was false. It was only a matter of time before he offended his new master and earned a punishment.

There was a part of him that wished it, even, to feel the strike of a whip, and release him from the constant fear of anticipation. He wondered if he could bring himself to instigate it, to have even the tiniest bit of control to decide the time that it would come.

He wiped the thought from his mind, along with the others. It was dangerous to think like that.

When Roxas fell asleep, he was a nobody once more.

o - o - o

Away from the city, he stood on the shore, the ocean lapping peacefully at his feet. Bare toes curled in warm, damp sand.

There were two others there, too, faceless companions, who had set out with him to—do what? It was somebody else's memory, hazy and unclear. He only knew the sense of purpose that drove them, the feeling of tenacity of untried youth.

It was all wrong.

He wanted to warn them. It curled in his gut, an urgency to stop the inevitable. He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice was drowned out by an angry, roaring sound, as the world grew dark. He watched, as if from the outside, as his other self disappeared, a casualty of too much pain, and too much horror, until all that was left was him, the nobody. Thirteen.

 _Roxas._

His eyes opened to darkness, breath coming in gasps. It was like suffocating, and he clawed at his metal collar in vain. He couldn't help the little cry that escaped, and that made it even worse, the fear of getting caught. A small flame came to life on a candle, and he scrambled back into the corner of his bed, imagining his fiery master coming to punish him already.

Instead it was Xion's gentle voice hushing him, her hands firmly pulling his away from his throat. "You'll hurt yourself," she whispered.

A dark titter joined his gasping breath. "Who cares? I'm meant to hurt." He jerked his hands away. Still, his breathing began to even out.

Xion studied him in the low light, choosing her words carefully. "I care."

Roxas returned her words with a withering look, and he could tell it was the first time he'd used it from the surprise on her face. "You're a slave, like me. Nobody. You don't matter."

Xion narrowed her eyes. "I don't believe that. But if that's what you think, then think about who does matter. _Axel_ would be displeased if you hurt yourself. And you know who he would blame? _Me_."

Roxas stilled. Xion didn't deserve punishment. "No. You—I don't want you to get hurt!"

"Even though I'm a nobody?" There was a hint of a smile in her voice. "Alright then. I won't get hurt, if you're not hurt. Deal?"

Roxas let out a sigh. "Okay."

"You should go back to sleep. Aren't you going out with the master tomorrow?" Roxas nodded. "It'll be good to get out. You haven't left once since he first brought you home, you know?"

"Mn."

o - o - o

Axel was still sleeping when Xion and Roxas rose in the morning. Xion assured him that it was normal for him to sleep late on a free morning, and went about her daily work. Roxas, having not been given a specific task, defaulted to tidying the study.

His hands were lingering on a discarded novel when Axel entered with a cheerful "Good morning, Roxas!" Roxas jerked away from the book, and froze, realizing the movement betrayed him even more. Axel raised an eyebrow. "Throw it away. It was a shit read, anyway."

Roxas stared at the floor. "Yes, Master." It was a book, but he still hated to throw it away. It reminded him how easily _he_ could be thrown away. Axel wasn't wasteful when it came to his work—the scrap metal he kept was a testament to that—but that was useful things. Roxas wasn't necessary. Just like a book.

Axel's snort startled him. "If you're that broken up about it, you can keep it. I don't mind."

Roxas' mouth fell open. Was he being baited? He picked the book up gingerly. He wanted to say _Are you sure?_ But questioning his master would be a mistake. Refusing it would be a mistake. Accepting it would be a _mistake_. He wasn't sure what the consequences would be for each action, and so chose the present over the future. "T-thank you, Master."

Axel's lips stretched in a smile. "Alright. Just leave it on the desk for now, and go put on the clothes I had delivered yesterday. There's shoes, too."

The clothes were a layered affair, all black underneath, with canvas over-pants and a white jacket lined in red. The jacket had a stiff collar, but was open in the front, leaving the metal band at his throat visible. It was some consolation, maybe, to have extra layers, like armor, at least.

Axel nodded in approval when he returned to the study. "It suits you." Roxas nodded at the ground. "Now." He gestured at a chain pooled on his desk. "I'm not fond of chains, so I won't put you on one. I don't think I have to tell you what the city guard does to runaway slaves." Axel paused until Roxas nodded; it was something he knew intimately. "Good! Let's go!"

In truth, Roxas was still balanced on the edge of a precipice. The thought of running away for the sake of running away, he knew that was futile. There was no escape. But there was still the anticipation, waiting for Axel to turn on him. It was tempting to get it over with, and it would be so easy to slip away unnoticed in a crowd. Maybe the whipping would kill him, this time, and he wouldn't have to go back.

It was a thought that fell away as the passed the slave quarter.

Roxas had forgotten how near it was to Axel's home. Or perhaps the walk had been much longer, in his weakened state. It had already been over a month since then—he hadn't exactly kept track, but Xion had. He didn't have the courage to seek out that pain, even if it meant worrying over when it would fall on him.

So he followed Axel as a silent shadow, obedient. Axel, on the other hand, was quick to point out his favorite shops, the places he sent Xion for errands, and even a few things he'd worked on.

One was a decorative sculpture that was displayed outside of a glass shop, where Axel had once apprenticed. It caught the light and refracted it into a surprising pattern that glittered across the sidewalk. "Working with glass is harder, you know?" Axel was saying. "It's a lot more delicate. The results are pretty enough, but I've always liked metal. It's more useful." He laughed. "And more useful means more money."

Roxas stared at the sculpture for a long time. He hadn't thought his master capable of something so beautiful, and wondered if Xion had seen it. She probably had, and probably adored it. He still didn't understand how a slave could adore their master.

He was surprised when one of the shop slaves came out under the sculpture and smiled up at Axel. "Ser Cendres!"

"Hey, Pence! I see you're still being fed well!" It was strange to see that slender hand descend on another's head to ruffle hair. "This is Roxas, he's been helping me out in my home workshop lately."

Pence winced. "I bet it was a mess!"

Axel laughed. "I think you know me too well."

Pence smiled at Roxas. "But I'm sure Roxas will take care of you, right?"

Roxas glanced up to gauge Axel's expectations, and found no hints, so he simply nodded. A voice from inside called Pence back, and he disappeared with a cheerful wave.

Axel pointed at a clock tower that rose out above its surroundings. "I've worked on that, too. Come on, I'll show you!"

Roxas wasn't sure what the point was, of Axel wandering around the city with him in tow, chattering about his favorite things. He didn't care about what his owner did outside of his home. He didn't _care_ if docile, gently-raised slaves liked Axel. A smart person wouldn't ruin an expensive slave.

A smart person would vent their frustrations on a slave that only cost a handful of coppers.

Axel was teasing him. Mocking.

He must be, and the thought made Roxas' heart rate rise as they climbed the stairs of the clock tower. His breath, too, was snatched away, as Axel threw a door open to let them out onto a ledge.

There was nowhere to run, except to fall, and it was debatable if it was a fatal drop.

Axel pointed up at the heavy metal hands on the clock face. "Xemnas had me make the hands. The old ones he wanted to decorate his home, can you believe it?"

Roxas wasn't looking at the clock hands.

Up there, the wind tugged at their hair and clothes, and carried words away, so that Axel didn't hear him the first time he said it. He could see it in the raised eyebrows, so he said it again. "Just do it! Whatever you're going to do, just get it over with!"

Axel crossed his arms. "No, Roxas. That's my line."

Roxas gaped. "W-what?"

"You need to get it out of your system, whatever it is. Let go. Things aren't going to be like they were before I bought you. I'm not going to hurt you. But if you want to hurt me, now is your chance." His voice was calm, even. "No one will see. Xion won't know." He uncrossed his arms and held them out to his sides. "Just a little push, Roxas, that's all it would take. You hold your master's life in your hands."

"It's a trap," he whispered. He'd be caught by the city guards. Or he could dive down after, and have an end to it.

"It's not a trap, Roxas. It's a choice." Axel stepped closer, arms still out at his sides. Another step, and Roxas began backing away, shaking his head.

A misstep took the choice away from him. The ledge behind him ran out sooner than he expected, and Roxas experienced a moment that felt as if he was floating, his arms pinwheeling for purchase.

He thought he'd long ago forgotten how to scream, but the sound still tore its way out of his throat.

"Roxas!" Axel's hand on his wrist was painful, but not the kind of painful he'd expected. He clung tight as Axel hauled him back onto the ledge, until they both fell into a heap, and Axel began laughing. "Wow! Well, that could've gone better!"

Roxas stared at him, incredulous.

Axel only laughed harder. "Well, maybe you could've pushed me off, so it could've been worse."

"Are you mad?" Roxas was certain he was.

"What?" His laughter stopped abruptly. "No! I'm pretty happy you didn't kill me."

"I meant crazy."

Axel grinned. "Well, maybe." There was silence between them for a long time before Axel spoke again. "I meant it. What I said."

Roxas stared down at the city, at the ugly blemish of the slave quarter.

"You can speak your mind, Roxas. I can't understand you if you don't."

"What's there to understand? I'm a slave." The city was blurring below him.

Axel sighed.

"Of course I don't trust you. My life belongs to you."

"I just saved you from falling to your death," Axel remarked dryly.

"So you can hurt me worse later," Roxas muttered.

"Ah. There it is." Axel leaned back against the clock face. When he spoke again, his voice was cold. "Fine. Just remember, that once, you held _my_ life in your hands. The only thing that stopped you was _you_."

The words sent a shudder through Roxas. He was right. If Axel ever did hurt him, it would be his own fault, for letting this chance go. It was…oddly comforting, a strange kind of control that he had been given.

"You're right." And then, as he turned Axel's words over in his mind again: "I'm not the same person I was before."

Axel stood, and held a hand out to help Roxas up. He accepted it, and the quiet that followed them home was a new kind of silence.

 _Because Sora was gone. He was Roxas, now._


	4. Shades Between

**A/N:** Hello readers! I would really appreciate it if you dropped a comment down there to let me know how you're liking this fic so far! It's very experimental for me, so your reactions are very helpful in deciding how to proceed. Thanks!

 **Chapter 4:** _Shades Between_

Roxas wore his slave collar with contempt. That much hadn't changed since the exchange on the clock tower. No matter how pretty it was, no matter that it was lightweight and not overly tight, it was still a prison. The scars he wore would always be with him, the ugly proof that he had to be broken before he bowed his head obediently. That he could live with, even if remembered pain was an agony.

The contempt was still there, then, but much of his fear had faded. While he still didn't trust his master, he realized that he'd earned a little of Axel's trust. He hadn't run, and he hadn't moved against Axel when the opportunity was presented to him. It wasn't the same trust that Xion held—Roxas doubted Axel would ever allow him to roam alone in the city—but it was a start.

He wasn't sure what to do with that trust. He didn't want what Xion had.

The person he was before had had goals, aspirations. Ideals. But those had disappeared with him, and Roxas was left behind, alone. Empty.

It would be incorrect to say he found meaning in following Axel's orders, in trailing the man around the city. He did those things because he had to, and because they kept him occupied. They kept him from thinking dangerous thoughts.

Until the day Axel announced that Roxas would begin accompanying him to the Organization.

He had come home in a foul mood, his return punctuated by the slam of the front door. Xion had taken one look at him and pulled Roxas with her into their quarters, only moments before Axel bellowed, "Leave me!"

Roxas' nerves were on edge, his eyes wide, as he listened to the crashes and bangs coming from the workroom. Would he be summoned? Would Axel come after him instead, to haul him out? It had been long enough since he'd been abused, that he'd grown used to the lack of pain. He no longer anticipated it, and that, he realized, could be a fatal error.

"Hey." Xion's soft voice pulled him away from the noises outside. "It's okay. He's not like that."

"Just because he's never turned on you, doesn't mean he won't turn on me," Roxas muttered.

"He won't. He'll wear himself out in the workroom." She let out a small laugh. "You'll have a mess to clean up, but that's all."

Roxas shot her a look that said he was doubtful. A thought surfaced, of Axel, unguarded, atop the clock tower, and he remembered that he'd gotten here through his own decision. He clung to the thought, tight, as he heard Axel's raging slow, and then stop.

Xion gave him a reassuring smile. "See? He just needs time. He's a person, like anybody else."

Roxas stared at her. She said it so simply, as if everyone knew it to be a fact, that nothing separated slaves from owners. He was still processing the words when she stood in a fluid motion and, with a word about dinner, headed towards the kitchen.

Slaves. Masters. Black and white. _They were fundamentally different._ If a person owned a slave, they were important, they mattered. Slaves were invisible, nothing. Being a person didn't come into it, because—because-

But it did.

Roxas felt the foundations below him shift when Axel summoned him, and he saw the man surrounded by the aftermath of his rage.

The workroom had never been tidy, but now it was a chaos of shattered glass, upended toolboxes, and other detritus, all bearing scorch marks, and in one corner, a lingering fire licking at a bundle of half-burned papers. Axel didn't seem to notice. He sat, slouched against a cabinet, long legs sprawled out in front of him, head tilted back, an arm thrown across his eyes.

It was a weariness that Roxas was unaccustomed to seeing on an owner.

Axel dropped his arm and fixed his gaze on Roxas. They stared at each other for a rare moment, before Roxas cast his eyes to the floor. Axel let out a sigh. "Bring me a glass of water, please."

 _Please_. To a slave. It gave him pause, his eyes flicking up to take in Axel's pallor, the way the purple ink on his face was starker than usual, before he turned on his heel to obey the request.

Unwilling to provoke him, no matter what his state, Roxas moved to start cleaning the mess as soon as Axel was sipping the water.

"Leave it." He turned back to Axel in time to see his hand flutter in a movement that extinguished the burning paper, and stood there, uncertain. Waiting for a dismissal. "I'm sorry," Axel said, at last. "I scared you."

Roxas stilled. He couldn't deny it. "What do you want me to say?" He said it as earnestly as possible, and even then, it sounded impertinent. He braced himself for the blow-back.

Axel's laugh caught him off-guard. "Nothing, Roxas. You don't have to say anything. I just wanted some company."

"Should I ask Xion to send a card out?"

Axel drew a leg up and settled his chin on it. "Why? You're here, aren't you?"

Roxas took an involuntary step back, wary.

"Tell Xion to bring out some ice cream, yeah? Three bars." Axel stood, dusting off his pants.

Roxas did as he was told, and when he and Xion entered the study, Axel was at the window, watching the sun sink behind the city. He turned to the two of them, and his lips turned up in a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Wordlessly, Xion handed him one of the ice creams, and joined him at the window. Roxas followed her example, still in unfamiliar territory with his master's mood.

It was full dark before Axel turned to ignite the lamps in the room, his fingers moving in the half-light from the city outside. By then, he seemed more himself, less weary.

"Roxas," he announced, "Starting tomorrow, you'll accompany me to work. Got it?"

Roxas nodded.

As Roxas set to work cleaning Axel's mess—he'd been given leave, after dinner—he thought about the popsicle stick he'd tucked into his pocket. _Winner_ , it read. Even though Axel had let him keep the cast-off book, he wondered if the man knew he could read. Probably he thought that Roxas had taken up Xion's hobby of collecting worthless things; reading wasn't something that many slaves learned to do.

Roxas had had no trouble reading through the harlequin novel in the glow of a single candle. And yeah, it was a shit read.

But he could read. That was something he could hold onto.

That, and the image of his master on the floor, looking up at him with weary eyes. Even if he tried to, he couldn't forget it. Because in that moment, Axel had gone from being an owner, to a person. Roxas' vision of black and white bled into greys, just a little.

o - o - o

Axel walked to work.

It was something Roxas hadn't expected. He knew little about his master's life outside of his home, but he knew at least that the long silver chain across his chest was a symbol of status, and that Axel had a rank in the Organization. Xion was very proud, beaming when she told Roxas the respect their master commanded.

He'd thought the recent day out an exception, a free day meant for taking the air and loitering. So Roxas had expected Axel to climb aboard a waiting rickshaw, or hail a cab, for work.

Instead, they walked, Axel picking his way through the streets with long, sure strides. Despite that, he kept his pace slow, and Roxas wondered if he was dawdling, or accommodating Roxas' shorter stride. If the night before was any indication, it was more likely the latter.

They passed the slave sector along the way. Roxas kept his gaze on his master's black-clad figure, but even then, he couldn't tune out the miserable atmosphere. He wondered, briefly, what about him had stood out enough for Axel to notice him, when the man all but ignored the huddled shacks and gilded tents clamoring for attention. Especially when he already had Xion, and could clearly afford better.

There was the thought, again, that Axel had chosen him for that reason, exactly: a cheap slave that didn't attract attention, to do with as he would.

But he hadn't. He'd come home in a rage, and he hadn't.

Instead, Roxas was in good health, and following Axel through the door of an imposing structure of glass and metal. _The Organization_ was spelled out above the entrance in an intimidating—and likely expensive—display of electricity.

 _The Organization_. The interior was sterile white, bustling with activity. There were a handful of others with the chains of status across their chests, caught in a brief glimpse before Roxas turned his eyes to the polished floor. A very few people with neither chains nor collars scurried to and fro, and collared slaves dutifully faded into the background.

There were other creatures, vaguely human-shaped, that moved with a weird, sinuous grace to follow barked directions. They weren't anything Roxas had ever seen before, and they seemed to be little more than puppets, fundamentally lacking something he couldn't put a name to.

"Dusks," Axel supplied, noticing the direction of Roxas' gaze. "I don't know where they come from, but they listen well enough. If only they weren't so freakish."

Roxas flinched as a person collided into his master without warning. "Axel!" he sang. "What's this!" He looked down at Roxas, his eyes settling on the metal band at his throat.

Axel shrugged him off with a groan. "Demyx, don't you have work to do?"

"Aw, but Ax! You never told me you got a new one! You even brought him to work!" Roxas forced himself very still as the man gripped his chin, inspecting him.

"Lay off! Who said you could touch my property?" Axel batted Demyx's hand away.

Despite Axel's word, _property_ , Roxas was grateful for the interference. Axel's touches were expected, even if they felt invasive, but to have to endure others' was courting disaster, he knew.

"So selfish!" Demyx grinned. "He's just as cute as Xion; man, you know how to pick them."

Roxas couldn't help but stare as he watched his master give Demyx a solid smack to the back of his head. "I'm not like that, and you know it."

"Hey, ow! No shit! Me, neither! I just meant—"

"Then say what you mean." He started forward again with a dismissive wave, Roxas trailing behind, but Demyx still followed. Axel shot him a glare over his shoulder. "Unlike you, apparently, I have work to do. Go find someone else's time to waste."

"Spoilsport!"

Axel gave an exaggerated shrug. "Someone's gotta be."

They left Demyx behind, climbing a long, curved staircase, then down a hallway, until Axel stopped at a door. He traced a pattern in fire on the metal surface, setting off a mechanism to open it. The room inside was a larger, messier version of the home workroom, with tables littered with half-finished projects, schematics, and correspondences. It was brighter and cooler than the space at home, though, with a wall of glass looking out onto the city, and ventilation shafts in the ceiling.

"Welcome to the office of Rank Eight, Axel Cendres," he made an exaggerated gesture to wave Roxas into the room. He began pointing things out, with brief instructions, and the priority of each task, before retrieving a pair of black gloves and setting to work. How he found them in the mess was a mystery, but Roxas was about to fix that.

It was similar to home, after that: Axel manipulating fires, and Roxas tidying after him, although Axel's usual stream of chatter was more of a trickle as he concentrated on his work.

It was a relief, really, that it was the same, and the large window made it almost pleasant as he moved about the room.

"You don't…use pleasure slaves?" Roxas asked after a while. The question had been digging at his mind since the earlier exchange with Demyx.

Axel looked up, surprise written on his face. Roxas rarely spoke except when spoken to—a perfectly obedient slave, if that was what his owner wanted. Roxas was beginning to wonder if that was indeed what his owner expected, especially in moments like these.

Axel's lips stretched into a lopsided grin. "There's no fun in it. No challenge." He shrugged. "No challenge means no reward."

"If you're so keen on a challenge, then I think you'll find the Superior's latest orders fulfilling."

Axel and Roxas both turned to the owner of the monotone voice. Roxas caught a glimpse of bluish hair and a cross-shaped scar on the man's face before he turned his eyes to the ground. "Don't you know how to knock?" Axel's voice came out as flat as the intruder's, and despite the fire dancing in a nearby dish, the room suddenly felt cold; Roxas suppressed a shiver.

The man stepped close to Axel, invading his space to press a small bundle of papers to his chest. "Don't you know your place?" His gaze flicked to Roxas, unsettling yellow eyes that Roxas could see through his eyelashes. "You've brought a slave. How unlike you."

"You're not the only one capable of changing."

There was a tense silence, before the man spoke again. "See that you follow orders. To the letter, this time."

Axel closed a hand over the papers. "And if I don't?"

"It won't be me you answer to." He stepped back, and spared Roxas another glance, before turning on his heel and stalking out of the room.

Axel sent a scathing glare in the direction of the man's retreating back. He turned to Roxas after the man was out of sight, giving him a once-over. "Close the door, Roxas." He untied the string holding the bundle closed while Roxas followed the order. The dark look on his master's face was an echo of the fury from the night before, and Roxas felt a tremor of fear run through him. The scowl on Axel's face grew as he read the first page, then shuffled through the other pages. "The _Superior_ _'_ _s_ orders. _Right_."

Axel tossed the bundle onto the nearest table and turned back to the metal component he'd been working on. Roxas waited for another explosive show of rage, like the night before, but Axel seemed to rein in his irritation, the hard line of his mouth the only sign that he was unhappy.

"Roxas, I need some Nova powder." Roxas blinked, coming out of a reverie he hadn't even realized he'd fallen into. A glance around the room didn't locate it, and he bit his lip. The work room was still disorganized to the point that items were difficult to find quickly, and he didn't think his master's patience was very forgiving at the moment. As if to verify it, Axel snapped his fingers, pointing his free hand at a table that Roxas hadn't yet cleared.

Roxas breathed a sigh of relief that the vials were in the first box he opened. He selected one, his eyes wandering to the bundle of papers that still lay where Axel had discarded them. _Mission to Castle Oblivion_ _…_ _eliminate…locate the witch…_ Words popped out at him, and then ran together, his eyes glazing over in half-formed thought. There was something familiar…

" _Roxas_. The powder?" Axel's sharp voice called him back again.

Roxas shuffled over with the vial, his mind spinning. He wasn't sure if he wanted to dig deeper, to pursue the thought hooked in his head, or if he wanted to push it out. It seemed important.

But it was important to _Sora_. Not Roxas.

The revelation made him shake his head, clearing the haze that was trying to accumulate. Sora had had his chance.

The sun was sinking lower when Axel declared his work done for the day. Roxas' task of tidying was far from finished, after constant interruptions from Axel, but it was something he'd grown accustomed to, he realized. That, and the man's company. It was easier to bear it, if he looked at Axel as a person, rather than a master. They were not equal, but neither was the difference between them as stark as it had been.

Axel tucked his directive into an inner pocket before they quit the Organization.

Roxas was surprised when Axel led them back to the top of the clock tower. "Is this a test?"

Axel glanced over at him as he sat down on the ledge, feet dangling out over the city. He shrugged. "Saix is always testing me. He should know by now it's a waste of time."

"Saix…?" Roxas knew the confusion showed on his face.

"Our blue-haired friend. He thinks he's tough shit because he's Xemnas' lapdog. He's still only one rank above me." He leaned back on his hands. "It's all power plays, you know?"

Roxas studied him. "Is that what this is, then?"

Axel glanced over at him, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "Is it?" He turned his gaze back out to the city, the light of the sunset glinting in his eyes. "You're awfully bold when you're so high up. Less afraid? Is this what you were like before they broke you?"

Roxas considered the question, following his master's gaze to the vivid colors of the sunset.

Axel patted the space of ledge next to him. "Sit down, Rox." He shrugged and added, "Only if you want to."

Roxas didn't sit. Finally he said, "A slave that's bold is only courting death."

Axel laughed at that. "That is true. You're a smart kid, Roxas." He shook his head. "Maybe not smart enough. I don't want you dead, and I'm not going to hurt you. Get it memorized."


End file.
